Mountains Out of Mole-Hills?

For the last several invidious weeks I have been a drifter in my own home. Never sleeping for more than a couple restless hours upon the same mattress. I start out in Alaina's room, till her tired eyes nod off to sleep. Then to my room, and my profusely pined-for plush pillow-top. My sojourn here only lasts another couple hours, until around 3:30 am Matthew promptly awakens, demanding "Chawbee milk", and my warm and snug spot in bed. I attempt to squeeze onto my king sized bed. . . with only inches left between him and an untimely tumble to the floor below. After a few moments of tenaciously grappling the side of the bed to keep from being punched, pummeled and poked off the edge, I stumble to the guest bedroom to listen to the sprinklers water the back lawn until I doze off, only to greet the sun moments later it seems.

Last night was the last night that I would be branded a vagabond. With a baby on the way, I could not imagine wandering like this for much longer. So I determined to put an end to it. While Alaina still demands at least a token attempt at sleeping with her, Matthew has no say in the matter. After about 40 minutes of angry screaming, he decided he would take my peace offering - a cold cup of strawberry succulence. And then after several weary requests to watch "Cars" (his all time, overly watched, and much beloved favorite movie), I get him to lay back down in bed with Alaina in HER bed, while we watch the artificial fish in his artificial aquarium swim round and round in circles. Almost 2 hours later, and after the type of rolling and flipping and flopping few in this wide world have ever witnessed, he relinquished his relentless hold on conciousness, and fell asleep.

I lay in bed soon thereafter, wondering if I had made a mountain out of a mole-hill. Was it really all that important to kick my cuddling son out of my plenty large bed? Was I going to miss these moments, and regret forcing them into oblivion?
Then I decided to celebrate this mole-hill morphed to mountain. This was a huge step for me, a victory won, a step closer to sanity. So I will glory in my 'mountain'. It is one to find satisfaction in. I think as mothers, what were once accomplishments worthy of Mountain Stature, become virtual mole-hills. What we once celebrated becomes less significant. And the small, seemingly mundane mole-hills become our Mt. Everests.
And while one successful night of not acquiescing to his demand to bunk down in my domain is by no means the end, it is the beginning, the first peak of many. It may be squashed and my once steadfast and immovable mountain may crumble before my eyes. . .I will still raise my arms above my head, and say "I did it!"
So here are to all the mole-hills we have come and will come to celebrate as mountains.